


Qef

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [32]
Category: Queer as Folk (US), The West Wing
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A delegation from another new country meets with the White House staffers from The West Wing. They seem to be a little out of their depth, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Qef

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.  
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this alternate universe, which I own nothing from.

“Who am I meeting again?” Josh asked in confusion as he strode down the hall.

“The delegation from… Qef,” Toby replied, joining him at a turn in the corridor.

“And where is that?”

“South Pacific islands… somewhere in the South Pacific.”

Sam was on their heels. “Are they here yet?”

“I don’t know,” Josh told him. “Donna!” His assistant seemed to appear almost magically from the hallway in front of them, looking stressed as usual. “Are they here yet?”

Donna nodded, her expression uncertain. “They’re in the Roosevelt Room,” she said, falling into step beside Josh. “But—“

“But what?” he asked in exasperation.

“The Governor isn’t with them,” she added in a hushed voice. “They said he’s sick.”

“Who’s sick?” CJ asked as she entered the fast-moving crowd.

“The Governor of Qef,” Josh replied. “Apparently the rest of the delegation is here, though.”

“What is the point of talking to them if the Governor isn’t here?” Toby asked in frustration. “Don’t they have phones? Couldn’t they have _called_?!”

“Hey, listen,” CJ began, and her tone stopped them in the middle of the hallway. She spoke more softly, encouraging them to lean in. “Danny Kincannon just tipped me that the Governor and some of the delegation were spotted _out_ around town last night.”

“Didn’t they just arrive in the _country_ last night?” Sam asked. “They don’t waste any time seeing the sights.”

“ _Where_ was he seen out?” Toby asked, fearing the worst.

“In the gay district,” CJ replied carefully.

There was a pause. “Well, that’s not so bad,” Sam said finally. “Is it?”

“What was he _doing_ there?” Toby pressed.

“He was seen in the company of a boy—“

“Oh G-d,” sighed Toby.

“—who _appeared_ to be seventeen or eighteen. They were at a bar and a dance club,” CJ continued, “and at least three men were picked up, though allegedly none of them actually made it back to the hotel.”

“Where did Danny get this?” asked Josh.

“He said he has two sources who saw everything first hand,” she told him.

Everyone was quiet a moment as they mulled the consequences of this bit of news. “Is he going to run the story?” Josh finally questioned.

CJ shrugged. “It’s not a story right now,” she said. “Nobody cares. But if this guy has serious political aspirations, it’ll be all over the front page.”

“Then it’ll be _his_ problem,” Toby decided. “Let’s get on with this. I have a feeling these people are going to be _weird_.”

The group began moving again. “Did you see how they filled out the forms?” Sam asked, paging through a folder. “They’ve sent an— _odd_ collection of people.”

“They’re very friendly,” Donna assured them.

“Game faces, everyone,” Josh reminded them, pausing at the door to the Roosevelt Room. “Here we go.”

He pushed open the door and stepped into the room, a diplomatic smile on his face—and he kept it frozen there as he surveyed the political delegation on the other side of the table. There was a slight thump of Toby, Sam, and CJ stumbling into Josh’s suddenly immobile form; then they tried to change direction at the same time that Josh started moving again, leading to a rather awkward entry. Fortunately the people already in the room seemed nervous enough not to notice.

“Hi,” was all Josh could come up with. “Uh, I’m Joshua Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff.”

“G-d, they just keep getting cuter, don’t they?” This comment appeared to be directed at Sam, and came from a worn-looking 40ish man wearing a bottle-green sports jacket and a purple fedora.

He was playfully swatted by a rotund woman in a red-and-orange plaid sweater beside him. “Vic, would you let the nice boys introduce themselves first?”

“Mom!” A big-eyed 20ish man in a cheap navy suit hissed this warning under his breath, then stepped forward to shake Josh’s hand. “Hi, I’m Michael Novotny. Um, I’m really sorry that Brian—er, Governor Kinney”—there were snickers from some in the party—“couldn’t make it today, but he’s _really_ sick.” The man was far too honest to be a good liar. Fortunately he knew it and turned to the others for support. “Right, Ted?”

A very mild-mannered fellow in an argyle sweater vest looked surprised to be called on. “Uh, yeah,” he affirmed unconvincingly. “As a dog.”

“Totally puking his guts up, all night long,” Mr. Novotny insisted.

“Maybe it was something he ate,” suggested an effeminate man in a skintight blue shirt, accented with marabou fluff. This comment also drew barely suppressed chuckles.

“Okay, excuse me,” sighed the other woman present, a 30ish brunette in a severe suit. “Brian is not here, but we would like to begin the discussions anyway. Is this going to be a problem?”

She seemed so accusatory that Josh hastened to wipe the smile off his face and reassure her. “That’ll be fine. If I could just introduce my colleagues—“ He ran through their names quickly, Sam receiving a wink from the older man.

“And we’ve already met the lovely Donnatella,” the older woman enthused. “Such a pretty name, I can’t believe you’re not Italian. We’re Italian, you know,” she added, indicating the older man and Mr. Novotny.

“Mom,” he repeated warningly. “Uh, well, it’s nice to meet you all. I’m Michael Novotny—“

“Said that already, honey,” pointed out the marabou’d man.

“—and that’s Emmett Honeycutt,” Mr. Novotny continued, indicating the one who had just spoken, “and that’s Ted Schmidt”—the argyle sweater raised his hand—“and that’s Debbie Novotny—“

“I’m his mom,” she pointed out.

“Really,” Josh commented with a grin.

“Yeah, they say we kinda look alike,” she added, patting her frizzy red hair. She flung an arm around the older man’s shoulders. “This is my brother, Vic Grassi.”

“And I’m Melanie Marcus, and that’s it for roll call,” the other woman said brusquely. “Can we get on with this?”

“Yeah, sure,” agreed Josh. “Let’s sit down, shall we?”

“Say, you know, you guys got some nice stuff here,” Ms. Novotny told him as they settled in. “I mean, I would have some more color myself, but it’s real classy. Real historical.”

“And about as stiff as a—“ Everyone swiveled to stare at Mr. Honeycutt, who quickly finished, “a morgue. I’d have more color, too. Make it a little bit more _fun_ , you know.”

“It’s not supposed to be _fun_ ,” Mr. Novotny told him with some irritation. “It’s supposed to be—“

“Intimidating?” Mr. Schmidt suggested.

“ _Formal_ ,” Mr. Novotny corrected.

Josh jumped in while he could. “Would anyone like anything to drink? Tea?”

“How about some coffee, huh?” suggested Ms. Novotny. “Nice and strong.”

“Forget coffee,” insisted Mr. Grassi. “Got any bourbon?”

“A beer would be nice,” said Mr. Schmidt, in a tone of voice that suggested he thought he probably wouldn’t get one.

Josh looked at Donna. “Uh, Donna, could you bring in some—refreshments, please? Thanks. Okay,” he continued when she had scurried off. He opened the folder in front of him. “Maybe we could start things off by discussing your positions in the government. We noticed that some of the forms were a little—“

“Forms? What forms?” asked Ms. Marcus in alarm. “Ted, did you fill out any forms?”

“Uh, some diplomatic things, nothing I didn’t run through you first,” he assured her.

“These were the Professional Documentation forms,” Sam added. “Career credentials. That sort of thing.”

“Did any of you--?” asked Ms. Marcus, looking down the table. Everyone shook their heads. “D----t, Brian must have filled them out.” Expressions of alarm appeared. “G-d only _knows_ what he wrote down!”

The White House staffers glanced at each other. “So, you’re _not_ the Minister of Education?” Toby asked Ms. Novotny dryly.

Her laughter pealed across the table. “Well, d—n, why not?” she finally decided. “I’ve done plenty of educating in my time.”

“And are you the Chief Justice?” CJ asked Ms. Marcus uncertainly.

The woman rolled her eyes. “I guess there’s plenty of worse things he could have put,” she muttered. “I _am_ an attorney at least.”

“What am I? What am I?” Mr. Honeycutt demanded eagerly.

Sam glanced at his notes. “The Minister of Culture,” he replied.

“Thank you, Jesus!” Mr. Honeycutt exalted dramatically. “I knew I would be ordained someday.” He brushed a mock tear away from his eye.

“Michael, how the h—l could you let Brian fill those out?” Ms. Marcus snapped. “I mean, who knows what he was _on_ at the time! I just hope he didn’t, I don’t know, lie about nuclear weapons or something.”

“Are you the Financial Magician?” Toby asked Mr. Schmidt, barely containing a sigh.

Certain members of the group hooted. “Magician?” The man looked halfway between appalled and excited. “Does it really say that?” Toby raised an eyebrow by way of response. “Well, I’m an _accountant_ , if that counts for anything.”

“Hey, does Vic have a title?” Ms. Novotny asked delightedly.

Josh flipped through some pages. “Sure, he’s listed as the—“ He stopped suddenly when he found the form.

“Well?” Mr. Honeycutt pressed.

Josh didn’t know if he should smirk or not. He decided on not, to be safe. “He’s listed as the Queen Mother.”

Howls of laughter went around the table. “Wait, let me get my hat and my corgis,” Mr. Grassi quipped in an effeminate voice.

Mr. Novotny was torn between laughing and being mortified. “Oh, G-d,” he sighed. “Look, Brian—er, Governor Kinney—must have been, uh, _really tired_ when he filled those out. I mean, we’re not really, like, politicians—“

“Oh?” said Toby acerbically.

“Say, what’s Mikey’s title?” Mr. Grassi asked, ignoring Toby. “Doesn’t Mikey get a title?”

Josh tried hard to say this one straight-faced, but he could see where it was leading. “He’s the Chief of the Staff.”

“ _Whose_ staff, hmm?” Mr. Honeycutt commented as the others laughed heartily.

This time Mr. Novotny really _did_ look embarrassed. “I can’t believe he wrote that!”

“You should take it as a compliment,” Mr. Schmidt suggested. “It’s a very, uh, high position.”

“That makes you Brian’s right-hand man,” sniggered Mr. Grassi.

“Head of the Council,” Ms. Novotny threw in.

Her son buried is face in his hands. “Could we move on to a new topic now, please?” he begged.

Josh could see Toby getting very frustrated beside him, but he kind of liked these people. So many of the delegations they met with were stuffy and boring and full of style-over-substance. He didn’t yet know if they _had_ any substance, but at least the style wasn’t dull. So he threw them a softball question.

“Maybe you could give us a _brief_ history of your country,” he suggested.

Mr. Novotny seemed relieved. “Okay, I know this. Qef was founded by these two lesbians.”

“Their _names_ ,” Ms. Marcus added pointedly, “were Annalia and Chrisinia.”

“You’re part of the Annalian League?” CJ asked in surprise.

“Well yeah, honey,” Ms. Novotny confirmed. “I know, they’re all really secretive, they don’t like to talk about other members.”

“Until they’ve come out,” Mr. Schmidt added, “so to speak.”

“Um, I didn’t realize Annalia was a lesbian,” Sam said. “I mean, other people always said her companion was either her slave or her daughter.”

“Well, we think they were lovers,” Ms. Marcus replied crisply.

“Anyway,” Mr. Novotny continued quickly, “they founded the country like a zillion years ago—“

“I think the number is closer to four thousand,” Mr. Schmidt put in.

“—and, uh, we’ve just been living there ever since,” Mr. Novotny finished, smiling brightly.

“How did Mr. Kinney become Governor?” Toby asked leadingly.

“Oh, G-d, it’s the craziest story,” Mr. Novotny laughed. “The previous leader—“

“May he rest in peace,” Mr. Grassi interjected, removing his hat briefly.

“—died after ruling for like fifty years, and he didn’t have any kids or anything, so they had to go all back through the family tree to find the next ruler.”

“They didn’t have that figured out _before_ the leader died?” Josh asked.

“The next five people in line didn’t _want_ the job,” Ms. Marcus snapped. “Nobody wanted to be in charge of an obscure country full of queers.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. “Nobody but Brian,” Mr. Novotny finally said.

“At least we can’t say he’s doing it just for the sex,” Mr. Honeycutt added helpfully.

Mr. Novotny glared at him. “Brian has a plan,” he insisted. “He’s going to make Qef important.”

“Fairy capital of the world?” Mr. Grassi suggested.

“Maybe he could build a theme park,” said Mr. Honeycutt.

“Um, no need to ask where you stand on gay rights, then,” Sam commented, checking a box on his notes.

“Gay marriage, gay adoption, domestic partner benefits, gays in the military,” Ms. Marcus listed brusquely. “Just a few things _your_ country doesn’t have.”

“Ever fought in a war?” asked Toby rhetorically.

Josh felt the tension level in the room jump suddenly. “As a matter of fact, we have,” Ms. Marcus told him coldly. “Plenty of ‘little’ wars that _you’ve_ never heard of, but also a couple that you have—like what _you_ call World War II.” Josh raised an eyebrow.

“We sent a thousand troops and support staff to Europe,” Ms. Novotny told them. She smiled at her brother. “That’s how our parents met.”

“The Nazis killed gay people, too, you know,” Mr. Grassi pointed out.

“And we took in a lot of Jewish refugees,” Ms. Marcus said. “That’s where _my_ grandparents met.”

“Do you have a large military?” CJ asked smoothly.

“Not really,” Mr. Novotny admitted. “There’s like, two thousand troops now.”

“They all have _fabulous_ uniforms, though,” Mr. Honeycutt added.

“Let’s talk about your national budget,” Josh redirected, trying not to sigh.

***

Toby was fuming by the time he got out in the hall. Josh barely got the doors closed before he started ranting. “This is not a _delegation_!” he shouted, as Sam and CJ ushered him down the hall to an office. “This is a-a _farce_! A cheap vaudevillian _stage act_!”

“Well, that’s quite an analogy,” Sam commented dryly. “I mean, they haven’t even broken out the pie and seltzer yet.”

“They’re rank amateurs!” Toby continued. “A waitress? A store manager? A clothing salesman?”

“And an accountant and a lawyer,” Sam reminded him.

“Who do these people think they _are_?! Do they think this is some kind of _game_ that we sit around playing at all day?!”

“I kind of like them,” Josh admitted. “They’re fun.”

“They’re very down-to-earth,” CJ agreed. “A little off-color sometimes…”

“Think we should tell Leo any of their Chief of Staff jokes?” Josh asked with a wicked grin.

“No,” replied the other three immediately.

“Anyway, they’re still just learning,” CJ added. “The lawyer, Marcus, seems to know her stuff.”

“And the accountant had all the budget questions down,” Sam pointed out.

Toby could see he was on the losing side. He hated that. “Yeah, and the Chief of Staff is more familiar with comic books than his own history.”

“Well, it’s forty years of comics, and four _thousand_ years of history,” Sam reasoned.

Toby sighed. “Please don’t say they have to meet the President.”

“I think they have to meet the President,” CJ told him. “They expect to.”

“Couldn’t there be some kind of national emergency that keeps him busy until they’re gone?” Toby begged.

Josh glanced at his watch. “I think we need to get back in there,” he told them.

**

“Well, I mean, Brian’s got this _plan_ ,” Mr. Novotny was insisting. “He wants Qef to become known all over the world. He wants it to be a place where gay and straight people can work together.”

“He _wants_ it to be a place where he can get laid even more often than he does now,” Ms. Marcus corrected, “if that’s even possible.”

“Sex sells,” said a new voice from the back of the room. “Ask anyone in advertising.”

Heads swiveled to see the figure who had just wandered in—late 20ish, with slightly shaggy brown hair, deep brown eyes, and an expensive grey silk suit. More than good looks, he possessed a kind of magnetic, almost predatory charm that snapped at everyone like a whip.

“Brian!” Mr. Novotny exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought you were, uh, _sick_.”

Governor Kinney quirked an eyebrow at the lie. “I got over it,” he replied evenly. He turned his expectant gaze to the White House staffers. “Foreign food. No offense.”

Josh finally got to his feet, dragging the others up with him. The Qef delegation belatedly jumped up as well—they seemed to be unused to paying their respects to their new leader. Josh quickly introduced his colleagues, and just as he finished, a blond woman loaded down with a baby and baby accessories pushed through the doors.

“Sorry,” she apologized with a sweet but tight smile. “I got stopped by Security a couple times. I guess they thought I had a bomb in the diaper bag or something.”

Her attempt at humor failed. “Lindsay, what are _doing_ here?” Ms. Marcus asked, walking over to grab a bag for her.

“I wanted her to come,” Governor Kinney explained, taking the baby from her. “I wanted our prospective allies to meet the whole family.” There was something slightly sarcastic about everything the man said—Josh couldn’t ever figure out quite what he meant.

The Governor turned the baby to face the staffers. “This is my son,” he told them. “Gus.”

“And _mine_ ,” Ms. Marcus added sharply. “And Lindsay’s.”

Governor Kinney rolled his eyes. “He’s also the heir to the throne.” The heir drooled a bit into his blanket.

“Only if he wants to be,” Ms. Marcus corrected him. “That’s what we decided.”

“Yes, that’s what we decided,” the Governor agreed, with a long-suffering sigh. “So I’ll try not to f—k the country up too much, or I’ll have to find someone else for the job.”

“And this is Lindsay Peterson,” Ms. Marcus introduced, pointedly. The blond waved a little, awkwardly.

“Where’s the Crown Princess?” Mr. Honeycutt asked cheekily.

“He had to make a royal pit stop,” Governor Kinney replied, handing the baby back to Ms. Peterson.

“You shouldn’t have brought him,” Ms. Peterson reprimanded him quietly. “He’s not quite recovered from last night.”

“It’s his own fault,” the Governor pointed out icily. “He shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

Josh finally risked eye contact with Sam and CJ and found them trying hard to maintain their diplomatic faces. He didn’t bother looking at Toby.

“Anyway,” Governor Kinney continued, turning back to the staffers, “let’s talk shop.” He dropped gracefully into a chair at the table and waited expectantly. The rest of the delegation sat back down as well, followed by the White House staffers. Ms. Peterson sighed and settled into an armchair in the corner.

“We were just talking about your plan for Qef,” Mr. Novotny said. “You know, gay-straight alliance and all that.”

“Right,” the Governor replied disinterestedly. Josh noticed that unlike the others, he wasn’t carrying a folder of papers or even a PDA.

“So…” Toby asked leadingly, “ _do_ you have a plan for Qef?”

He obviously doubted it, and the way Governor Kinney raised his eyes from under long lashes made Josh a little nervous—it was like an animal poised to strike.

“Qef is going to be f-g heaven,” the Governor replied simply. Mr. Novotny nudged him in the ribs and smiled nervously, but the man ignored him. “It’s the first country in the world to have equal rights for _all_ its citizens—gay marriage, gays in the military—“ He stopped when he saw the expressions around him. “Covered this already, hmm? Did you trot out World War II?”

“It was mentioned,” Mr. Novotny admitted.

“Did Melanie tell you she’s a lieutenant?” the Governor inquired innocently. Ms. Marcus dropped her gaze as if slightly embarrassed. “The previous governor gave her a medal of valor after our war with Micronesia a few years ago.”

“You went to war with _Micronesia_?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Kicked their a-s,” Governor Kinney confirmed. “Which may not seem like much to _you_ —or hey, maybe it _does_ —when was the last time you guys won a war outright?”

There was a tense silence for a moment before the Governor continued, “So don’t look down your nose at us like we’re a bunch of pansies who don’t know how to get what we want. The people you see here are my best friends”—several pleased and surprised looks appeared—“and they also happen to be the people _I_ want running the country. You don’t like it, you’ll have to assassinate me.” He smirked at little, as if acknowledging how unlikely it was the United States would bother.

“You really want me to be the Minister of Education?” Ms. Novotny asked in surprise.

“If you want it,” shrugged the Governor.

“And I can be the Minister of Culture?” Mr. Honeycutt exclaimed. “Oh, but what about the store?”

“Your store is part of the problem,” Governor Kinney pointed out, leaning back in his chair. “Our economy is s—t. All of our money goes to foreign countries, instead of our own businesses.”

“Um, but honey,” Mr. Honeycutt interjected, “the foreign countries make the best stuff.”

“Which is why part of my ‘plan’ involves encouraging local industries,” the Governor told him. Much to the White House staffers’ surprise, as they scrambled to take notes, he proceeded to rattle off an intelligent and cogent economic strategy, complete with dense statistics from memory. Assuming he wasn’t just making everything up on the spot, which Toby at least wasn’t willing to assume.

After about ten minutes, the door to the room opened and a teenage boy slunk in, looking pale and tired. “There you are,” Governor Kinney said, turning to him. “I thought you fell in.”

“Almost,” the boy replied blearily, throwing himself down on the antique couch near Ms. Peterson.

“Keep your feet off the furniture,” the Governor ordered. “It’s old.”

“You don’t look so good, Sunshine,” Ms. Novotny observed brightly.

“I’ve been puking,” he answered with a groan. “You guys have really nice bathrooms, by the way,” he said to the White House staffers.

“Thanks,” replied Josh, unsure of what else to say.

“That’s Justin,” the Governor told them. He seemed to feel that was explanation enough and turned back to the table. “The other big part of the plan is to encourage tourism from foreign countries—“

“Excuse me,” Toby cut in, and Josh closed his eyes briefly, not liking where this was headed. “Who’s Justin?” He nodded at the teen lounging on the couch.

“My ward,” the Governor told him crisply. Dangerously.

“How old is he?” Toby persisted.

“Old enough to know better than to gorge himself on foreign alcohol,” Governor Kinney tossed back over his shoulder.

“I hardly drank anything,” Justin protested weakly.

“Which is how old, exactly?” asked Toby.

“Eighteen,” the Governor replied smoothly.

“And the age of majority in your country is?”

“Twenty.”

“So he’s a minor,” Toby concluded.

“Which is why he still has a legal guardian,” the Governor pointed out coldly.

Sam attempted to redirect the conversation. “So, tourism—“

“Is he your lover?”

Everyone froze. If Josh had learned anything about the Qef delegation, it was that normally they might have made some off-color remarks at this point; but now things were too tense.

The Governor narrowed his eyes at Toby, paused, then pretended to relax. “We f—k, yeah,” he replied crudely, “but if you’re interested in him, feel free to ask. He does who he wants.”

**

_Poor Justin was not merely hungover, but had accidentally ingested some kind of drugs, and ended up being rushed to the hospital._

“What are you doing?”

The nurse paused before injecting her syringe into the IV bag. “I’m giving him some painkillers.”

“Don’t,” Brian told her, crossing the room to the side of the hospital bed. “He’s had enough of your drugs in his system.” He frowned down at the boy who was tossing in the bed, biting his lip to keep from crying out.

“He needs something,” the boy’s mother insisted. “He’s in pain!”

Brian glanced at her, at Michael, at the nurse. He didn’t want to do this with them all standing there, but—he looked down at the boy and decided he couldn’t make him wait. He took his hand. “Justin.”

The boy cracked open a blue eye, then closed it again. “Everything hurts,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“I know,” Brian told him. “Just calm down. Relax.” His tone was all wrong. He wasn’t helping at all. Brian forced himself to forget about the other people in the room, to put them out of his mind. He stroked the boy’s short blond hair with his free hand and said, “Justin. Calm down. Breathe evenly. In, out. In, out. In, out…” The boy struggled to obey. “Now relax. Every muscle. From head to toe.” Gradually the boy began to still. “That’s it, baby. Relax. Go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

Seeing that her patient had gone to sleep, the nurse smiled and slipped out, syringe still full.

**

“You call him ‘baby’?” Michael teased an hour later, when Brian finally left the hospital room.

“Shut up,” Brian told him. He added quickly, “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

Michael held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but Brian had the feeling he would be teased about this for a while.


End file.
